by Morgana Best
I opened my mouth, but Julie spoke again. “Fine, fine. Three’s a crowd. I get it. But we absolutely must see some of the afternoon events together. It would just be silly not to sit together. We all know each other really well after all.”
Too well, way too well, I thought despondently.
Chapter 12
"Oh, it's you," Julie spat. Maybe she thought she had gone too far because she flashed her teeth. I figured it was her attempt at a smile, although it made her look as though she was about to bite someone’s leg.
"Hello, Julie," Aunty June said in even tones. "Imagine seeing you here."
"Touché!" Julie said with a flourish of her napkin. "I could say the same to you."
Aunty June took a seat at the table. "This looks lovely."
Julie's frown deepened. She stood up, almost knocking her chair over. "I remembered somewhere else I had to be," she said before departing in a hurry.
Cordelia chuckled. "I don't think she likes you, Aunty June."
"I get that impression too." Aunty June did not appear the least upset. "Now to business. Are you two investigating the politician’s death?"
Cordelia and I exchanged glances. "Skinny wants us to tie his death to the paranormal somehow," I explained.
Cordelia drummed her fingers on the table "Basically, Skinny wants to us to make it up."
"But if your boss sent you here, surely she wants you to investigate," Aunt June continued. "Have you started writing the story yet?"
I nodded, and Cordelia said, "I've made some notes."
"From what you told me about your boss, she would expect you to be investigating."
I scratched my head. "You know—you're right. We can’t simply make up a story and say his death was at the hands of ghosts, or whatever Skinny wants. We need to investigate."
"Where do we start?" Cordelia asked. "I'm surprised the police presence isn't more obvious."
"I had to give a witness statement," I protested.
Cordelia waved one hand at me in dismissal. "Yes, I know that. I mean, you’d think the police would be snooping around questioning everybody. Obviously, the hotel has asked them to keep a low profile."
Aunty June readily agreed. "Yes, murder is bad for business. Has anyone said anything about how he died?"
We both shook our heads. "He wasn't shot, but that's all I can tell you," I said. “Oh, and there wasn't a dagger sticking out of him or anything like that."
"It's strange that he went missing and then turned up dead in the room you were given. Where had he been all those days?" Cordelia asked. “Didn’t you say he looked as though he had just died?"
I nodded. I could hardly tell Cordelia that I suspected the man had possibly slipped into an alternate dimension. It was going to be hard to investigate while keeping Cordelia out of the loop.
Aunty June shot me a knowing look. "I know your editor wants you to find a paranormal reason for his death, or to be precise, invent a paranormal reason for his death, but the paranormal and the normal go hand-in-hand. If this was a murder and not merely some type of bizarre accident, then somebody murdered him."
Cordelia set down her coffee cup. "You know, you're right! We’ll get bonus points from Skinny if we discover the identity of the murderer."
Aunty June waggled her finger at her. "Please don't put yourselves in any danger."
Cordelia rubbed her hands together in glee. "This is exciting. We will have to solve Lucas Wallace’s murder. Now, who wanted him dead?"
"Pretty much all of Australia," I said dryly. "He was a famous politician after all."
"Maybe it was his wife," Aunty June said. "I have no idea if he had a wife, but if he did, you should take a close look at her. The police always look at partners first. And then again, it could well be that a guest at this hotel killed him."
"Maybe so," I said, "but they might not have stuck around. I mean, if they murdered someone surely they would have left as soon as possible."
“You'd think so," Aunty June said, stirring several cubes of sugar into her coffee. She took out the silver teaspoon and turned it over, staring at it for a few moments. "No, I would think it would tip off the police if a guest left as soon as the murder was committed. I wouldn't be surprised if the murderer was still here. I suggest you look at the guests."
Cordelia raised her arms in a gesture of horror. “Other guests? There must be hundreds of them."
"They have sixty-seven guestrooms, according to the brochures," I told her. "I haven’t seen many guests.”
Cordelia readily agreed. “I’ve only seen about thirty guests, but didn’t they say they’re fully booked and that’s why you had to have Lucas Wallace’s room?”
I nodded. “Still, we can't interview them all. Where on earth would we start?"
Aunty June shot me a blank look. "Don't look at me. You're the journalists, after all."
"Then we should start with the staff," I said.
"Good luck with getting any of them to talk to you," Cordelia said with a snort. "I asked the maid in my room if she knew anything about the murder and she all but ran out of the room in terror. And I did ask in quite a subtle way too."
I rubbed my chin. "There was a maid scrubbing the walls when they gave me Lucas Wallace’s room. Maybe I could speak with her. I have to act as if I've just happened across her, though."
Cordelia nodded slowly. "Yes, that's a good idea. We don't want any of them to think we’re seeking them out to ask them questions. I know, Misty, tell her you’re nervous because you're in the dead man’s room and you wondered if anyone knew anything about his murder.”
"Great idea," I said. "I'll go back to my room now and try to catch her. Hopefully, she’s on duty today." I looked at Cordelia expectantly.
"What? You're wondering what I'm going to do?"
I nodded.
Cordelia stared out the window. "I'll wander around and speak to any staff members I see."
"What are you going to ask them? What approach will you take?" I asked her.
"I'll play it by ear. When should we meet?"
"I’ll come back here as soon as I speak with the maid," I said. "I don't know when that would be. I assume she’s doing the rooms around this time."
We both looked at Aunty June. “I have to leave now,” she said. “This was just a quick visit. Be careful, both of you.” She waved us away.
Happy that we had some sort of a plan in place, I hurried back to my room. An uneasy feeling I was being followed down the long corridor settled over me and I wasn't quite ready to dismiss it as my imagination.
When I reached my door, it was already open and a mop was leaning against the door. The candle! I clamped my hand over my mouth and ran into the room. I was relieved to see it was, in fact, the maid who had been cleaning the symbols off the walls. She paused halfway into the doorway to my bathroom.
"I have a candle burning in the shower," I blurted out, hurrying over to her.
She stood there, clearly at a loss.
"It's a religious candle," I said. “I'm burning it for protection because Lucas Wallace was murdered in here."
Her eyes lit up. "Oh, I see. That makes sense."
I didn't think it would make sense but was grateful that she seemed to think so.
It was then I realised it had given me an opportunity for conversation. "I can't put it out. It has to stay there until it burns out, and that might take a few days so please don’t clean the shower while I'm here."
"Of course I don't mind," she said. "Don't tell anyone I said, but I don't think they should have given you this room."
"Yes, I couldn't figure out why they did," I said honestly, "but they said the other rooms were booked. I haven't seen a huge influx of guests though."
She scratched her head. " Yours was the only room that wasn't booked, but it’s so strange. All the rooms are booked, but more than half the rooms are vacant."
“That does seem strange. Have you seen the guest register?"
She sh
ook her head vigorously. "No, that's only accessed by people in the main office."
"I don't suppose they'd let me see it if I asked them," I said.
She laughed. “No, they wouldn't take kindly to it. Anyway, there's a huge society birthday party going on now. I don't think you'd be able to ask anyone anyway, because the office is vacant at the moment."
That presented me with an opportunity, but I didn’t want the maid to know my intention. To change the subject, I asked, "Do you know why anyone would kill him?"
"He was a politician, so he had a lot of enemies."
"Yes, that's what I thought. Was his wife with him?”
She shook her head. "He was here alone. I didn't see him with any women. Were you wondering if he had a mistress here?"
That actually hadn't occurred to me. "It would be too public for him to have a mistress at such a place as this." I tapped my chin. "Of course, a mistress could have booked in and they could have sneaked into each other's rooms, I suppose."
The maid shot me a knowing look. "Yes, a lot of that goes on. I see it all the time."
"But you didn't see it with him?" I asked her.
"No. He seemed normal. He was quiet and kept to himself."
"Did you ever see him speaking to any of the other guests?"
She looked up to the ceiling for a few moments before answering. "You know, he did speak to people here and there. Not deep and meaningful conversations, mind you, more like chatting with people he met in passing, I'd say. I didn't notice him hanging about with anybody in particular."
I nodded. "Yes, you must get so many guests it would be hard to remember them all."
"I remembered him because he was so famous, being a politician and all that. I did take more notice of him, but nothing out of the ordinary stuck out. The police asked me if I had seen him arguing with anyone or if he'd been in particular contact with anyone."
"And he hadn't?" I asked, just to confirm.
"That's right." She hurried over and pulled the sheets off the bed. "I do feel sorry for you being in this room."
"It is quite creepy," I admitted. "I'd feel a lot better if the police knew who murdered him. Not knowing who it is makes me worried. I’m afraid it might be someone at the motel."
She shot a look at the door. "Yes, that's what's making all of us a bit unsettled. We wonder if it's one of the guests."
"Well, it surely isn't one of the staff," I said, trying to draw her out.
"No, it would’ve been a guest.” Her tone was firm.
"Do you have any new staff members?"
She was quick to shake her head. "No, no new staff members at all. It's a good place to work, so we don't turn over staff quickly."
"So if it was a guest, would you have any particular suspects?" I asked her.
She had made the bed by now. She leant over to me and said in little more than a whisper, "None of us have a clue, and that's what we talk about all the time. None of us can figure out who the murderer could possibly be."
"And you do have access to the other rooms too, so if there was anything suspicious in another guest room, you would have seen it."
She nodded again. "Exactly! Nobody argued with him, and we didn’t see anybody else in his room. We’re completely clueless."
"That makes two of us," I said.
Chapter 13
One thing was certain — I had to see the guest register. I did not possess any hacking abilities whatsoever, so I was going to have to do this the hard way.
It was entirely suspicious that the Hydro Majestic had sixty-seven rooms and as far as I could see there were nowhere near sixty-seven guests. It seemed as though someone had booked a lot of rooms that remained vacant, but why? Was it to force me into Lucas Wallace's room? I had no idea.
I hoped the maid was right about the office being unattended. I did know how to pick a lock and I hoped the office hadn't shut down their computers. I didn't have a hope of getting past a password.
I sneaked silently along to the main office. The corridors were carpeted, much to my relief. If anyone asked me why I was there, I would simply say I was lost.
It took me a while to find the administration offices and sure enough, the door was shut. If caught, I planned to say I was there to ask if a friend had booked. I had named my imaginary friend Barry Berkman after the hit man from Aunty June’s fave show.
After knocking twice with no response, I pulled my hairpin out of my purse and picked the lock. The door creaked open and I stepped inside. No one was there. I hurried over to the computer on the main desk and, much to my delight, it was open. I immediately pressed a key in case it was about to shut down.
I wasted no time looking for the guest register. Whoever used the computer was organised and the information was nicely set out. First, I looked for John's name, but it wasn't there. Nor was Douglas's.
Julie had registered under her real name, but it said she had booked the week before. I scratched my head and pulled my double strength reading glasses out of my handbag. I put them on and peered at the date again. My reading glasses needed cleaning, but it did say she had actually had booked a week earlier.
"How could that be?" I asked myself aloud. "She said she only came after she saw my envelope.”
Still, I didn't have time to ponder the matter—I had to see who had booked the other rooms. It was as I suspected. A corporation had booked most of the rooms. I didn't know the name, but I pulled my phone from my pocket and took photos of the screen. I walked back over to the door. Just as my hand reached for the door, it opened.
I gasped. A tall man in a suit loomed over me.
"I was um, I was just um,” I stammered.
"Thank goodness the agency sent someone to replace the sick woman, after all," he said. “I'm glad I was able to change their minds. This is very important, you see. The client would be very upset, and we did book many weeks ago."
The penny dropped. He had mistaken me for someone else.
I intended to stick to my original plan and say I was there looking for my friend Barry, when he thrust a large plastic bag at me and said, "Thank goodness it was only you. I thought it was someone snooping around and I’d have to call the police."
I decided on the spot to go along with what he wanted.
“What’s your name?”
My mind went blank. “Um, Elena.”
“Elena, put those on as soon as you can and get down to the party room. You can change in the women's bathroom along the corridor and then you can get inside the cake."
"Inside the cake?" I repeated, shocked.
He shook his head in disgust. "They told me you were an experienced birthday party singer."
"I am," I said. I planned to get away from him as soon as I could, but my plan was foiled when a woman appeared.
"Vicky, this is Elena, our birthday party singer."
Vicky looked like an army sergeant. She reached out for my hand and shook it, all but crushing my fingers. "Pleased to meet you, Elena,” she barked. "You will come with me."
She took me by my arm, all but dragging me down the corridor. She nodded to the bathroom door. "You can change in there. I'll be waiting outside for you." She crossed her arms over her chest.
I went into the bathroom with every intention of climbing out a window. Unfortunately, the ceilings were terribly high and the one small window was just below ceiling height. I had no hope of climbing out of there. I would just have to go along with the woman and make my escape as soon as I could.
I thought the situation was bad, but things went rapidly downhill when I saw the costume: black fishnet stockings and a black lacy suspender belt, impossibly high heels, and the rest of the outfit was rather skimpy. What sort of party was this? And would my shapewear show through the black lace? I hoped not, given it was skin coloured.
While I was looking at myself in the mirror with horror, a meaty fist thumped on the door. "Come on, you're late," Vicky screamed.
I opened the door. "I usually w
ear more clothes than this," I told her.
Vicky was unperturbed. "It's the birthday of a very important government official. We booked your firm ages ago. You just have to jump out of the cake and sing to him. That’s it!”
"They didn’t give me full instructions, since I’m a replacement and all," I said. "Do you know what I’m meant to sing? Am I meant to sing happy birthday or something?"
"No. You’re meant to sing Smashed Foot."
I was partially relieved. The annoying teenager on the train had been playing that song over and over again. I didn't know the words—I wasn't even sure there were any words—but it sounded to me like a lot of loud grunting and animal noises. I figured I could do that. It would be better than my singing, that’s for sure.
"Why aren't you wearing make up?" Vicky asked me. "You look like a plain, everyday person."
I was about to protest that I was a plain everyday person when she whipped out some lipstick and stuck it on my lips. She then reached for my cheeks and rubbed the lipstick in hard with her thumbs. "What are you doing?" I asked her.
"I'm using lipstick as a blush," she explained. "You look much more, um…” Her voice trailed away. She looked me up and down before adding, "Now your face matches your outfit." Her lips twitched. “Are you wearing something under those clothes?”
“No?” I lied.
Vicky narrowed her eyes, but without a further word, led me down to the kitchen where all the kitchen staff stared at me with their mouths open. If I had been embarrassed before, I was even more embarrassed now. I didn’t even have time to look around the adjoining room, as Vicky half-helped, half-pushed me into a cake.
"When you hear someone yell ‘Happy Birthday,’ that’s your cue to jump out of the cake and start singing," she said. She slammed the cake lid on me.
I needed to escape. I couldn't hear anything, so I peeked out of the cake straight into Vicky's face. "You’re not supposed to climb out yet," she snarled.
I ducked back down and seconds later, I could feel I was being wheeled along.
Presently, all I could hear were party noises. I was mortified. I consoled myself with the fact that I had found valuable information, namely, that one corporation had booked all those rooms. That was a valuable clue. I was certain it had something to do with Lucas Wallace’s death. Now I just had to get through wearing horrible skimpy clothing and singing a death metal song in public before I could beat a hasty retreat at the first opportunity.
